


Haunted

by ThePreciousHeart



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, Concerts, Dreams and Nightmares, Grief/Mourning, Haunting, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Regret, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sequel, Song Lyrics, Therapy, but sort of similar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePreciousHeart/pseuds/ThePreciousHeart
Summary: The Golden Circle has been taken down. Statesman is helping Kingsman rebuild. And Harry Hart can't stop dreaming about Merlin.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Merlin, Tilde/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot was kicking around unfinished on my hard drive for a couple years, and I finally finished it now in a continued effort to complete all my unfinished works. It's somewhat of a sequel to my earlier fic, [Good Enough.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12416475)

Three months after bringing down Poppy Adams’ drug empire, Harry Hart began to dream about Merlin.

Coincidentally– or perhaps not– it was also the first time Harry slept in his own bed, his _new_ bed, after the tumultuous events at Poppyland. Frankly, it was miraculous that it had only taken three months for him to gain that opportunity. There had been an organization to rebuild and scattered staff members to contact, a house to acquire and fresh-faced agents to train… Then Eggsy’s wedding, and Merlin’s funeral, and even with boatloads of help from Statesman (including the generous loan of several of their agents), the organization, stripped of its wings, had struggled with working overtime. But at last Harry was able to spend a few leisurely hours at his new house, which he’d left unfinished over the course of the recent whirlwind changes. Though his unexpected leadership position at Kingsman afforded him with so little free time that it was hardly worth leaving their temporary base of operations, Harry needed a space all his own.

He’d hardly closed his eye before white mist swirled around him, enveloping him in an oddly-warm embrace. Blinking at his surroundings, Harry was surprised to discover that he’d regained his full sight, as if Richmond Valentine had never shot him. But the surprise gave way to greater confusion when a smooth, deep voice rang in his ear, its owner apparently standing right behind him.

_Harry Hart…_

A hand landed on Harry’s shoulder, but he was unable to turn around and face whoever was touching him. However, he didn’t need to see them to know their identity.

_"Merlin.”_ The name slid from Harry’s mouth and quickly succumbed to the pillowy air. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes as the voice continued to tickle his eardrums. _Where have you been? I’ve got to talk to you…_ It was the same voice that had directed him through thorny missions, that had made him always promise to return, that could have woken him from a coma (and in fact probably had). It was the voice of the man Harry loved.

_Pity he’s now six feet under._

A gentle kiss pressed to Harry’s cheek broke the spell. He emerged from the dream to find himself nestled between soft sheets and staring into pitch darkness. A dog’s wet tongue was nuzzling his face. “Noodle…” Blearily Harry sat up and pulled the wriggling puppy onto his lap, before reaching over to switch on the bedside lamp. Despite Noodle’s eager pawing, an uncontrollable sadness welled in Harry’s chest.

He wasn’t surprised to have received such a dream. He was used to terrible nightmares following the deaths of those close to him, from his mentor Percival to his Kingsman recruit, Lee. But though this dream conjured similar emotions, something was different about it. It had all felt so… _real,_ so vivid. Perhaps because the loss of Merlin was so personal. Although Harry didn’t generally think in such terms, if he’d ever had a best friend at Kingsman, it must have been Merlin. And later, he’d become something else entirely– something which Harry had never worked up the nerve to admit.

Sighing, Harry tried to blot out the memories with a rundown of the next day’s schedule. Soon he was sleeping soundly, Noodle curled into a ball at his feet.

He was both disappointed and relieved when the dreams failed to return.

*

Over the following weeks, Harry’s life proceeded at its ordinary pace. Kingsman was progressing in leaps and strides, and Harry had never been more comfortable overseeing it. Between interviewing staff members, training new agents, making use of Statesman’s resources and keeping an eye on world events, it seemed that things were finally looking up.

The only problem was those blasted dreams.

After the first night, they’d recurred with a vengeance. Merlin’s voice was everywhere but the rest of him was nowhere to be found. Incessantly he called from beyond Harry’s reach– _Harry! Can’t you hear me? I need to talk to you… talk to you… talk to you…_

Sometimes Harry was running, chasing the surrounding remnants of Merlin. Sometimes he was immobilized, hidden within the thickly-growing fog. Always he awoke with Merlin’s invisible touch lingering on his skin, and a profound sense of frustration in his heart.

Everything was fine. Everything was… _fine._ Outwardly speaking, _everything was fine._ So why couldn’t he let these bizarre dreams go? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about him?

_Because he should be lying in my arms, not in a grave. Because we deserved a proper farewell._

If only Harry’s subconscious would stop _reminding_ him.

As Kingsman’s head, Harry found his working hours much more manageable than they had been as an agent. The regularity was comforting. But ever since moving into his new house, he dragged himself out of bed without feeling like he’d slept a wink, his mind lost in a heartbroken haze. Perhaps what followed was inevitable under such circumstances. Perhaps it had only been a matter of time.

Harry ran through a never-ending tunnel, his feet making no sound as they hit the ground. He felt inexhaustible, as if he could run forever, and yet his anxiety grew with each step. He had to find Merlin, before– before _something_ happened. What, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it would be a catastrophe, and the blame would fall on his shoulders if he couldn’t get there in time.

_MERLIN!_ The shout refused to echo. Nothing in this dreamscape ever did. Rather, it landed with a heavy _thud,_ as if Harry had screamed into the void of space. Dammit, where _was_ he? Harry’s heart raced as the tunnel stretched out further and further, the beckoning warmth at its end growing smaller and smaller…

“Hey, Arthur?” A touch at Harry’s shoulder jerked him upwards, back to the land of the living. At first he couldn’t get his bearings, staring wildly at the unfamiliar furnishings surrounding him. Then he settled into his seat as he took in the round table, the laptop sitting open before him, the coffee mug beside it. He was at Kingsman HQ, waiting on a visit from…

“Tequila?”

The agent gave a gallant tip of the hat, a habit which England’s customs hadn’t broken from him. “Just came in to transfer my mission report…” He turned the flashdrive vaguely between two fingers, without glancing at it. “Sir, are you, uh… you feelin’…”

“I’m fine,” Harry said hurriedly. To prove so, he shut the laptop and picked up his mug, only to discover that the tea within had gone cold. However, even as his body went through the motions, his mind strayed back to that endless landscape and the fruitless search he’d conducted.

_Come on, Harry. No more of that. Be strong._

Was that his own voice in his head, or was it…

“Sir?” Again Tequila intruded on Harry’s thoughts. He minutely shook himself and cleared his throat, meeting Tequila’s eyes. He couldn’t have Tequila thinking… “Yes. Thank you, Tequila, I’ll be taking that.” Harry reached for the dangling flashdrive, but Tequila moved back from his grasp, his befuddlement transforming into suspicion.

“Forgive me for askin’, Arthur, but… are you _sure_ you’re okay?” The way Tequila was squinting made Harry feel as if he were being examined under a microscope. “You’re lookin’ like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

_A ghost._ Harry tried not to start at Tequila’s words. He steeled himself, adjusting his posture and responding firmly. “It’s nothing, Tequila. Merely an unpleasant dream. That ought to teach me not to doze off after lunchtime.”

“Yeah…” The hardness in Tequila’s eyes gave way to pure confusion, though he made an attempt to hide it. “We can’t have you sleepin’ on the job.” Clumsily he handed over the flashdrive. “Well, here you go, sir.”

“Thank you, Tequila. That will be all.” Harry tried to convey poise as he set the flashdrive on the table, hoping Tequila would buy it. At first it seemed likely; Tequila nodded and mumbled a word of parting as he turned towards the entrance. However, before he had cleared the end of the table, he paused and turned back to Harry.

“You know, Arthur… uh, if these bad dreams are a… regular thing…” Tequila’s eyes searched Harry’s face, as if waiting for confirmation, but there was no way in hell Harry wanted to help him out. Nevertheless, Tequila forged ahead. “Well, all’s I’m sayin’ is I know a great therapist who works for Statesman… Lovely gal. She’s straightened _me_ out a few times. Wouldn’t normally go for that, but you’d be su—”

“That’s quite all right,” Harry cut in. “I appreciate the information. Good day, Tequila.”

At first it looked like Tequila might say more, but in the end he just nodded. “A’right, Arthur.” At last he left, leaving Harry to collect his thoughts.

Tequila _did_ have a point, he supposed. It was a surprise for such a masculine figure to recommend therapy. Then again, Americans were known for wearing their heart on their sleeves. But Harry was an Englishman, and better yet, a Kingsman. For years, he’d followed the Kingsman’s way, internalizing his emotions and pushing forward past adversity. When imagining what his new recruits would think, he balked. _They look up to me… They’re counting on me… I can’t waste any time better spent helping them._

He’d take a sleeping pill after dinner, Harry decided. Coupled with a few glasses of wine, it should be enough to suppress the dreams. Eventually his conscience would sort things out, as it always did. There’d be no more suffering in silence.

_Shame he’s no longer around to talk to…_

*

It was a month later that Harry received the letter. There was no return address, but the contents– two tickets and VIP passes for Elton John’s upcoming benefit show in London– left no doubt as to who had sent it. The concert was to be held in a week’s time– long enough to summon a plus-one, in order not to let the extra ticket go to waste. The only question was of who to invite.

Harry’s first instinct was to call up Eggsy and Tilde. He could think of no one to whom he felt particularly close in London, outside of Kingsman. And it didn’t strike him as appropriate to invite one of his fellow agents. Therefore, Eggsy was the only logical choice, despite the vast distance that separated them. Harry hadn’t spoken with Eggsy very much following his wedding, assuming that his new royal duties allowed for little socialization. But even if he couldn’t get away for a night, they could at least _talk_ …

Eggsy sounded just as happy to receive Harry’s call as Harry was to send it. “Harry! This is a surprise. How the hell are you?”

_A surprise?_ Had it really been that long?

“I’m fine,” Harry replied. “You’ll never guess what I discovered in my mailbox today.”

A perturbed note entered Eggsy’s voice. “You weren’t— _threatened,_ were you—”

“Nothing of the sort.” Again Eggsy’s words threw Harry off. Why should he immediately assume that Harry was under attack? _I suppose I can’t blame him, as the world these days has been downright apocalyptic._ “Unless you believe that an Elton John concert could wreak life-threatening havoc.”

In an instant, Eggsy turned ecstatic. “Bloody hell, he wasn’t joking! That makes three of us!”

“Three of us?” Harry repeated.

“Yeh,” Eggsy replied airily. “Me and Tilde were invited with a bunch of other royals. So we’ll be seeing you there?”

The remark dampened Harry’s spirit. It wasn’t that Eggsy’s boost in status didn’t overjoy him, or that he wasn’t pleased he’d found the love of his life, but Eggsy’s few words proved that their relationship would never again be the same. Harry was no longer the distinguished gentleman showing Eggsy the way of the world. And Eggsy wasn’t the same unrefined roughneck who followed his heart over his brain. He’d grown immensely in the months that Harry had spent unconscious, and even more so since marrying the princess of Sweden, and Harry had missed it. _All_ of it.

“I’ve got a second ticket,” he replied in a roundabout manner. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone in London who might be a fan of Elton John?” Surely none of Eggsy’s mates would pass up a chance to go backstage at a historic benefit concert. And if they were anything like Eggsy, they might actually enjoy the music.

Eggsy audibly brightened. “As a matter of fact…”

And so, after a brief discussion, Harry found himself handing over his ticket to an unexpected guest. Michelle Unwin, the most massive Elton John fan that Eggsy knew in London, smiled nervously as she stepped into Kingsman’s black cab and settled down beside Harry.

“Good evening, Ms. Unwin,” Harry greeted Michelle. He handed over a single ticket and a VIP pass, which Michelle promptly pulled over her neck. “When we get to the Royal Albert Hall, we’ll be escorted backstage via a secure entrance. As long as you’re wearing your VIP pass, you may remain backstage for as long as you wish. Security will take you to our seats. Should you at any point wish to leave early, our driver will be on standby. Simply text him at the number I’ve sent you, and he’ll respond in no time.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Hart,” Michelle murmured. “You’re too kind.” Though her eyes were guarded, concealing the last vestiges of the animosity she’d held towards him as the man who’d informed her of her husband’s death and then stolen her son away for months, she couldn’t keep from smiling at her surroundings. Harry didn’t mind her gawking. Casual conversation at Eggsy’s wedding had warmed him towards Michelle Unwin, but he still felt slightly uncomfortable around her, partly from the lingering guilt and partly because he simply didn’t know her very well. Eggsy’s suggestion to invite her spoke to the depths of his devotion to his mother.

“You’re quite welcome.” Harry raised his voice. “The Royal Albert Hall, please.”

Harry couldn’t remember the last time he had been to London’s esteemed venue. His duties to Kingsman left little time for such trivialities. Even knowing that Elton John had invited him personally, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there were better things to do than stand around schmoozing backstage before sitting through an hour’s worth of music. _Then why can’t I think of anything…_

Eggsy’s wide eyes were a welcome greeting as Harry and Michelle entered the backstage green room. “There they are, the guests of honor!” He hardly needed to move before the milling cluster of A-listers parted to make way for him. They met in the middle, Michelle overtaking Harry while Tilde followed close behind Eggsy, a warm smile on her face.

“So glad to see you.” Michelle embraced Eggsy before moving on to Tilde. As she stepped back, Harry appraised Eggsy. It was still strange seeing him so put together, so polished. The absence of his Kingsman glasses was palpable. Harry’s thoughts scattered as Eggsy, beaming, went in for a hug. “Harry, glad you could make it.”

“Likewise,” Harry responded as they pulled apart. “I couldn’t resist being a part of this noble cause.”

“The noble cause of chatting up Elton John, you mean?” Eggsy smirked.

Harry allowed himself to crack a faint smile. “I believe Elton is spoken for.” He tried not to ponder Elton’s decision to send that backstage pass he’d joked about. He hoped it was only a reward for saving his life, not an invitation into his bed.

Eggsy shrugged, nonplussed. “If he was single, though… I mean, come on, Harry, it’d be hard to say—”

“Excuse me,” Tilde teasingly broke in. “Have I got a reason to worry?”

The look in Eggsy’s eyes as he gazed at his wife was enough to drive any suspicions away. “Darling, you look _amazing_ in that dress.” He turned to his mother. “Doesn’t she, Mum?”

“Like the top of a wedding cake,” Michelle said, sneakily flashing a thumb's up. Eggsy and Tilde shared a knowing look that quickly teetered into laughter. For a moment, the happy couple warmed Harry’s heart, but the longer he gazed at them, the heavier it grew.

The room was packed with people, and yet the only one Harry wanted to see was the one who couldn’t be there.

After grabbing drinks and refreshments, the four began to mingle with the crowd. The famous faces left Harry unmoved; he’d had close encounters before and found them to be nothing special. What entertained him more were Michelle’s reactions to the celebrities passing by, especially once Tilde began introducing her to the ones she knew personally. At first it struck Harry as odd that Eggsy didn’t interact with them, but as Eggsy rambled by his side, he realized that his friend was suffering from Kingsman deprivation. His eyes shone with a certain hunger for information, questions that the crowd prevented him from asking bursting behind his tongue. At last he came up with a clumsy proposal– “Are you going to the afterparty?”

“Of course.” Harry patted Eggsy’s shoulder. “I suppose I ought to say yes before you explode.”

Eggsy flushed slightly, clearly embarrassed that Harry had read him so well, but Harry didn’t remark on it. Attending the afterparty would give him a proper opportunity to catch up, and hopefully dispel the hollow feeling in Harry’s chest.

The concert took some of the edge off. Though he and Michelle had box seats, Harry made a point of standing for every one of his favorite songs. The audience was responsive and Elton was on fire and in perfect voice. Harry could almost forget what circumstances had led him there, until Elton announced halfway through the set that he would like to dedicate the next song to the drug users who had suffered from Poppy Adams’ blue rash.

_And it seems to me you lived your life_

_Like a candle in the wind_

_Never knowing who to cling to_

_When the rain set in_

_And I would have liked to know you_

_But I was just a kid_

_Your candle burned out long before_

_Your legend ever did_

So many times in his life had Harry heard “Candle in the Wind–” over the speakers while he was shopping, on his own turntable at home. But right there in the Royal Albert Hall, the song was affecting him as if he’d never heard it at all. Memories began to crowd in his head. _I would have liked to know him… I never really knew him… what would my life be like if I had…_

Michelle’s arm bumped against Harry’s as she reached into her purse for tissues, bringing Harry back to the present. He took a deep breath, concentrating only on the soft blue light in which the stage was now bathed. This was no time for painful reminiscing. He’d come to this concert to forget his troubles, not to be reminded of them.

The concert concluded with several rounds of ovation, but Harry knew that the night was only just beginning. Eggsy, Tilde, and who knew who else would be waiting for him at the afterparty, scheduled to take place at a nearby nightclub. For a moment, as he watched Michelle gather her purse and mumble something about relieving Daisy’s babysitter, Harry wished he hadn’t agreed to go. He hadn’t expected to feel so empty after the concert– empty and _tired._ Music usually energized him. But it was Harry’s first chance in months to talk with Eggsy in person, and the lure of commiseration and camaraderie was too great to ignore.

Eggsy was nowhere to be seen when Harry first entered the club, so he took that as a sign to grab a drink. Given the choice of venue and the lavishness for which Elton John was known, he’d expected the room to be full of flashing lights and pounding music. However, the noise volume was bearable, which struck Harry as both a curse and a blessing. On the one hand, he’d have no trouble conducting a conversation. On the other… that gave him no excuse for keeping to himself. Fortunately most of the guests were too famous to take notice of an unfamiliar, well-dressed man drinking alone at the bar. Despite his long tenure as a spy, Harry had never felt more relieved to be anonymous.

One gin and tonic turned into two gin and tonics. Dammit, where were Eggsy and Tilde? Had they decided to come after all? Harry took out his phone and checked it, but found no new messages. He sighed, before draining his second drink. Funny how the alcohol provided a more uplifting experience than the concert had. At least it was shutting his mind up.

A hand at Harry’s shoulder caused him to jolt. He turned to find Eggsy seating himself on his left. “Sorry.” Eggsy unbuttoned his jacket. “Wasn’t thinking. Silly of me.”

“You’re quite all right,” Harry assured Eggsy. It wasn’t the first time someone had unthinkingly approached his blind side, and it wouldn’t be the last. His words sounded strangely distant, as if someone other than himself had spoken. He cleared his throat. “Where’s Tilde?”

“Catching up with some mates of hers. Guess that makes two of us.” Eggsy smiled, but its warmth didn’t touch Harry as it usually did. “Mum get home all right?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I put her in one of our cabs.”

“You mean one of _yours.”_ A faint smirk adorned Eggsy’s face, but he didn’t point out the obvious, and Harry was glad. He didn’t want to be reminded of how Eggsy and Kingsman had gone their separate ways.

“How is the married life?” he asked, suspecting that Eggsy had a lot to say on the subject. As he’d guessed, Eggsy blossomed before his eyes. “Oh, she’s _great,_ Harry. You always dream about this kind of fairytale happy ending thing as a kid… but I never would’ve guessed it’d come true for me.” His voice took on a knowing sense. “Thanks to all your coaching, I don’t feel so much like a fish out of water when I’m among them.”

Though Harry was usually one for an ego-polishing, he didn’t respond to the comment. Eggsy was trying his best to engage him in conversation, but Harry suddenly longed to talk about anything else. While Eggsy was off frolicking with his new wife and in-laws, Harry spent his nights mired in the past and his days struggling to block out his nights. _So many years wasted, and now I’m dealing with the consequences._ Even with Eggsy beside him, Harry couldn’t believe how alone he felt.

“…Harry?” Dimly Harry dragged himself from his mind to focus on Eggsy’s worried gaze. His forehead creased above his cloudy eyes. “You feeling okay?”

“I…” Harry sighed, torn between the instinct to maintain appearances and the voice inside him crying to give up and unload. “I’m just…” _Just fine? No, this is… this is far from fine…_

Eggsy’s worry deepened. “Was it something I said?”

_Yes. No. “No,_ no.” Harry reached up to massage his weary eyelid. The club’s mood lighting was starting to get to him. “I’ve had a very exhausting week.”

“Oh, right, yeh.” Eggsy didn’t look fooled for a second, which Harry had to hand to him. “How is it, being Arthur?”

Though the last thing Harry wanted to think about was his role as Arthur, he managed to shape an appropriate response. “The workload has taken some getting used to, but the organization has made excellent progress considering the state it was in once I was handed the reins.”

A rueful look appeared on Eggsy’s face as he signaled to the bartender. “Once again, that makes two of us.” He waited for the bartender to approach. “Martini, please?”

“Two martinis,” Harry added. He stared into the distance as the bartender nodded and withdrew.

“At least you’re not working alone.” The wistful murmur slipped out unthinkingly as Harry’s surroundings blurred. His head filled with white fog, the same that crowded his dreams every night, reenacting a scene that would never reach its conclusion. For a moment, he couldn’t decide which reality was preferable.

Concern tightened Eggsy’s voice again. “But you’re not…”

Abruptly he trailed off, perhaps remembering who used to share the workload at Kingsman. Lost in his waking dream, Harry couldn’t keep his mind from treading the same path. He rubbed exhaustedly at his eye again. Couldn’t the bartender hurry up?

“He should _be_ here, Harry,” Eggsy said in a quiet voice.

For the life of him, Harry had no idea how to respond. He wondered if Eggsy realized that he wasn’t merely missing a colleague, but someone who could have given him the kind of life Eggsy was currently enjoying. If only he’d been brave enough to take the risk. How was it that he could face world-threatening danger with the greatest of ease, but he hadn’t been able to tell the man he’d cared about more than anything else that he…

“Do you remember, Eggsy, what I told you about having never been in love?”

It was hard to read any kind of meaning into Eggsy’s response. “Yes?”

A heavy sigh escaped Harry as he stared down at the surface of the bar. “I was wrong. I was in love, once.”

The admission seemed to have genuinely astonished Eggsy. “What happened to him? Or her?”

A pang went through Harry’s heart. Part of him didn’t want to explain to Eggsy who he was talking about. Lord knew how much guilt Eggsy still carried regarding Merlin’s death. But he’d made it this far, and he didn’t want to discount the one relationship he’d made at Kingsman that had had any meaning.

“He died,” Harry said succinctly. “On a mission. Sacrificed for the greater good.”

The silence lasted only a second before Eggsy’s eyes widened. Of course, it didn’t take a trained spy to connect the dots.

“Oh my god, Harry, I’m so sorry—"

“Hello, gentlemen.” A hand appeared at Eggsy’s back, while Harry felt a touch at his shoulder. He inclined his head to see Tilde beaming, though her smile faltered as she took in the shocked look on her husband’s face and the grim look on Harry’s.

“Are you all right? What did I miss?”

“One martini for you, sir,” the bartender suddenly announced, saving Harry from forming explanations. He turned back to take his drink, as the bartender moved on to serve Eggsy.

“The only thing you’re missing,” Harry declared, ignoring Eggsy’s stare, “is an excellent cocktail.” He raised his glass to his lips, praying that the martini would work greater magic than his previous two drinks had.

*

_HARRY!_

Here he was, back in the void. Here were those hands that gripped him every night, that achingly familiar voice booming in his ears. And once again, Harry found himself completely powerless. He closed his restored eyes, trying to blot out the white mist, or will himself to wake up. But even with his eyes closed, he could still see, and the voice continued to shout.

_Merlin._ Desperation rose in Harry’s chest. Why couldn’t he just be left _alone?_ Why did his mind continue to torment him with visions of his friend? He felt his heart rate increase as the voice grew louder and louder, filling Harry up to the brim with anxiety. All he could hear was his own name, imbued with such shame and desire and pain and everything else that Merlin had a right to hurl at him. His hands and feet were like stones, leaving him unable to do anything but stand there and accept the onslaught.

_It could’ve been you._

_It SHOULD have been me. I should have—_

_Why didn’t you?_

_Why didn’t YOU—_

_It wasn’t his fault._

_It wasn’t yours either._

_It was TOO my damn fault, I—_

A slow chill spread across Harry’s back as his ferocity shriveled away. He had the distinct sense of being left alone, of having been abandoned in the way that he and Eggsy had had to abandon Merlin in the field. He surged forward, though he felt as if he were swimming through cement.

_Wait. Come back._

_Merlin. Come back._

_Merlin! Come back! I need—_

_“NO!”_ Harry awoke, but he hardly registered the soft mattress beneath him or the lamp at his bedside. He rolled onto his side, frantically searching beneath his pillow for his pistol. When his hands gripped air, a cold shock went through him. Something was wrong. Something was _very_ wrong…

The sound of skittering toenails on a wood floor reached Harry’s ears. He sat up, squinting into the darkness to spy Noodle wagging her tail at the furthest bedpost. Slowly, Harry lowered himself back down on the mattress, realizing only then that he was trembling.

Frustration overwhelmed him, made him want to weep. Night after night he’d endured these troubling dreams. Day after day he’d pushed through trying to ignore them. He’d lost sleep, weight, and interest in having a good time with others, all because he just couldn’t seem to let _go…_

_This is no way to live._ Not by Harry’s own standards, and not, he was sure, by Merlin’s.

Again Harry sat up, reaching for the phone that he’d left on his bedside table. Unlocking it, he set a quick reminder. _Contact Statesman therapist tomorrow._ He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done so sooner.

*

Mental health had never been the greatest concern in Harry Hart’s social circles, whether he was with Kingsman, schoolmates, or family. It seemed unbelievable now that Kingsman had never offered such services, being a high-stress job where one wrong move could have far-reaching consequences, but… well. Without the luxury of an in-house therapist, Harry had ruled out further options, based on the sensitivity of the information he had to impart. Furthermore, some part of him wore “never seen a head-shrinker” as an honorable badge. Vaguely he realized that his psyche was a thing that could be injured and treated, just like his body, but booze and action seemed to do just fine at patching up the holes.

So it was a rather skeptical Harry who followed through on making an appointment with Statesman’s mental health professional. Part of him was afraid she’d unravel him and stitch him back together into an unrecognizable pattern. He’d just come to grips with who he was after spending several months as a blank slate, and now that he’d reclaimed his identity, he’d latched onto it tighter than ever. Would these sessions change him? Would they weaken him? Considering the depression he’d fallen into, though, Harry figured any change at all would be beneficial.

And it was. It wasn’t easy, by any means, after fifty-seven years without. Sessions turned into arguments, ended with the tiring sense of no progress. Over time, however, Harry began to rebuild himself the way he’d helped rebuild Kingsman. The guilt and the grief would never completely leave, of course. But he didn’t have to prioritize those feelings anymore. He found himself able to remove his feet from the past and move on, marching forward into a dawn that suddenly held so many possibilities.

And, for a long time, the dreams stopped coming.

It wasn’t until Harry had spent another thirty years on planet Earth, had left the organization amicably and moved to sunnier climates and (according to some) adopted a few dogs too many, that he awoke to find himself in that white, misty abyss again. Even after so long, the clamminess in the air made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry’s neck. Yet he found he no longer feared it. He felt renewed, invigorated, in a way that he hadn’t in years. It was as if his entire body had regenerated itself.

_Harry?_ Once again, Merlin’s deep voice rang from the depths, begging Harry to follow it. But he stayed right where he was, because to his utter amazement, the fog around him was lifting, coalescing into a firm shape. Merlin appeared before Harry, looking exactly as he had on the day he’d lost his life, clad in a fine Kingsman suit and smiling fondly.

_…Hamish?_

_First-name basis already, sir?_ The smile tugging at Merlin’s lips grew brighter, drawing Harry closer. He couldn’t have moved away if he’d wanted to. Not that he ever would.

_Come on, now. It’s been…_ Harry paused, trying to recollect how many years had passed since he and Merlin had first become acquainted. _Well, no matter how long, it’s only fair. After all, you never bothered to tell me your name when you were…_

He broke off again, suddenly realizing how very strange it was that, after thirty years, here he was having a normal conversation with Merlin in some liminal dreamscape as if this were a regular occurrence. But this was anything but regular. If he was dreaming about Merlin again, he was bound to be unwell. And yet, Harry hadn’t felt so content in his life.

If, in fact, he was alive…

Merlin shook his head dismissively, not appearing to notice Harry’s internal realization. _You’d understand if it was YOUR name. Do you honestly believe I didn’t tell you just because it went against protocol?_

_Merlin._ Harry’s voice sounded husky, even against the drab background that muffled all sound. _Are you here because… well… am I…?_

_Yes._ Merlin folded his hands behind his back. _I’m afraid that you’ve passed on. Your heart failed during the night. Rest assured, you will no doubt have a peaceful burial, surrounded by those who cared for you over the years at Kingsman._

Talk about giving your life to the organization, Harry mused privately. He cleared his throat, scanning his surroundings. _So this is Heaven, then? Or have my sins caught up with me at last?_

_This is a waiting room._ Merlin’s voice was calm, collected. _An intersection between the land of the living, and whatever you would call the realm to which you’re about to depart._

_Surely you’ve been there before?_ Harry frowned. _I don’t understand. It looks just like my—_

He fell silent, as the thought didn’t so much dawn on him as shatter over his head. Merlin sighed and took a miniscule step forward, his eyes holding the long-suffering patience that he’d so often displayed when dealing with Harry in the past.

_You daft bugger. It wouldn’t have killed you to be a little less skeptical?_

_I suppose it did,_ Harry said faintly. _If seeing is believing…_

_But you didn’t HAVE to die to believe it,_ Merlin responded. _All those times I tried to contact you, and you dismissed every single one of them._

_Well, you could have improved your timing,_ Harry huffily defended himself. _I was… broken, Merlin. I thought… I thought your, er, visitations were a product of a guilty conscience and an overactive imagination. And you didn’t contact me a single time after I went into therapy._

_Because I saw how much it was hurting you._ Merlin rubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses. _I realized you had taken my messages the wrong way, and I didn’t want to put your through any further turmoil. Besides, making contact is… difficult. There are certain limitations, ones that I’ve no doubt you’ll discover for yourself. You had chosen to move on, and I thought I ought to do the same._

The explanation was reasonable, but there was something of which Harry could not let go. _And you never thought that perhaps you ought to make your message clearer? For god’s sake, Merlin, after all this time… what on Earth were you trying to say?_

Merlin met Harry’s eyes, and Harry swore he felt his stomach drop. The warmth of those hazel eyes absorbed him. Here was the man whom he’d thought about every day for the past thirty years. Here was the man he could admit, for the first time ever, that he loved.

_I think I’d better show you,_ Merlin said, before taking Harry’s hand and pulling him close. Harry rested his chin on Merlin’s shoulder, his cheek pressed to Merlin’s neck. Merlin's hands became fists against his jacket. Though they'd left behind cold bodies, the warmth of their souls melted together. Though no blood pumped through their veins, their hearts beat in time as one. Harry felt his face split into a triumphant grin.

_You silly man. I love you, too._

**Author's Note:**

> Unless 1. the upcoming King's Man movie inspires me, or 2. my sequel to my fic Prelude to Knighthood ever leaves Development Hell (which is entirely my fault), this is the last Kingsman fic I have in me. Don't be surprised if you see a few drabbles added to [my collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173789/chapters/18728074) in the future, though.


End file.
